


Any Questions?

by Funkspiel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Master/Pet, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Pegging, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: Graves' been a bit uppity during meetings lately, her stalwart Director of Magical Security. Nothing horrible - just a questioning remark here, a sharp and unconvinced look there. But people trusted Percival Graves. Trusted him as an honest and upright man. If he was discontent, obviously something was wrong. He wouldn’t lead them astray. He was moral and grounded. And he knew his place. Something had to be very wrong for him to feel the need to question the President.And that was just unacceptable.





	Any Questions?

Graves' been a bit uppity during meetings lately, her stalwart Director of Magical Security. Nothing horrible - just a questioning remark here, a sharp and unconvinced look there. But people trusted Percival Graves. Trusted him as an honest and upright man. If he was discontent, obviously something was wrong. He wouldn’t lead them astray. He was moral and grounded. And he knew his place. Something had to be very wrong for him to feel the need to question her.

And that was just unacceptable.

It’s during a conversation about safety that Picquery finds a way to deal with the little issue.

“Graves, considering our security breaches from the past, I’d like to have bi-weekly one on one training sessions with you, if you’d be so kind as to loan me some of your time.”

Graves blinks, and she knows it piques his interest because he’d been fighting for that very thing for a while now - still at odds and worried about security after no one noticed he was gone.

“Of course, Madam President. That’s an excellent idea.”

It sees them both in a training area not a few days laters; done up in comfortable clothes, the hour late lest they be interrupted by overly curious eyes, eager to see the President and their Director dance.

“How would you like to begin?” Graves asks, rolling up his sleeves, “Do you have a scenario in mind? Or just a simple duel to start with?”

“Since this is our first night, a duel shall suffice, I think,” Sera says as she removes her earrings and the ornamental items from her hair. “First one to disarm the other wins.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Graves says with an approving nod. He takes his place at the other end of the room, mats soft beneath their feet, and waits for her to finish. “Now that we’re alone… how’ve you been, Sera. It’s been a while.”

She sighs softly. A good man, her Director. A man unknowing of what was to come.

She turns to regard him somewhat as she finishes, “Well enough… tired.”

Graves nods, and she knows he’s the only one who properly understands. That he feels it too - deep in his bones where the world can’t see, hollowing him out slowly.

She takes her place opposite of him. His long, elegant wand in front of him; body turned in a fencers position, one hand on his hip. A subtle way of telling her that for now, he wouldn’t be using wandless magic. Nothing extravagant, he was never a showboat of a wizard. Simple. A good starting stance, one that could fall into any number of techniques. He’s a good Director. She just needs him to be perfect.

She falls into her own stance. Something headstrong and powerful. Obvious. She’s a slender woman; she learned early on that opponents had a way of underestimating her because of her size, her gender, he soft spoken-ness. A prime opportunity to take advantage - but she preferred not to. Why take advantage when she could smite them beneath her boot heel and show them first hand what’s what. As an Auror, that underestimation had been an asset. Criminals didn’t know what was coming when she suddenly knocked them off their feet.

As a President…

A President needed respect, and that meant conveying confidence and power and iron will right from the get-go.

Graves doesn’t comment though. He’s not one to tell another wizard or witch how to fight; only how to improve. And she’s grateful for that - particularly because tonight isn’t about improvement, not on her part. It’s about reigning in her lion.

He won’t start the fight, she knows. He’s a waiter. Strategic and patient. An opportunist. He’ll wait to see what she has in store and react accordingly, and when he does, his magic will come down upon her like hellfire - there’s a reason why she hired him. There is no duelist like Percival Graves; except, maybe, for Gellert Grindelwald. But Graves has never seen fit to explain to her beyond “I made a mistake, it won’t happen again” on how Grindelwald managed to subdue him.

So she’ll have to figure it out for herself.

She starts heavy. A searing blow of magic that makes Graves nimbly sidestep her attack, eyes wide somewhat as he turns to look at her because  _that_  was a somewhat more serious attack than he no doubt considered they would get into tonight.

She doesn’t let that surprise slow her, there is no room for mercy here tonight.

She takes two steps, curves with the motion, and lets loose another volley with a wider spread. It makes Graves go on the defensive, a barrier at the tip of his wand long before it’s needed. But now she has the upper hand.

Her magic comes faster. One blow after another, each heavier than the last, pounding him back, slowly pushing him back to the wall. He doesn’t seem concerned, but there is a keenness in his eyes that says:  _How will I turn the tide?_

And she knows he will.

And he does. Apparates in the moment that one of her spells casts a blinding set of sparks against his barrier and disappears. One second he’s there, the next he’s behind her. Stinging her with a stunning spell loose enough to shock her, no more. It’s obvious he views this as training for her and her alone, and it nearly makes her laugh, because it will not be her that’s brought to heel this night.

He moves quickly. A man of speed rather than power; not because he is not powerful, but because he is precise and responsible. His feet carry him through a quick set of footwork that leaves her turning, keeping her on the defensive. More annoyed than anything else.

She lets loose an explosive spell that makes him quickly dart to the side to avoid it, tumbling along the mat and lithely back onto his feet — hair somewhat ruined, his eyes seriously wide now, because that spell could have maimed him.

“Sera,” he says, but she’s on him again. He has to act quick to block it. One hits his barrier so hard it scoots him back, and he has to plant his freehand — which till now has been at his lower back — down onto the mat to stop him.

He must think she has anger from a meeting to burn, because he says no more. Merely heightens the thickness of his shields and propels it at her before quickly rising to his feet, spinning deftly into a spell that sends her stumbling back — more a push than a sting. More serious, but not quite.

She sends two spells next, one to distract and a curved spell to lance.

It works nearly as planned. He defends against the primary spell, but catches sight of the secondary one sneaking behind him before it can quite hit home with the intended effect. Instead it merely glances his shoulder, sending him staggering.

But it’s all she needs.

An incarcerous spell comes next; leather bindings bleeding into place around his body, making him stumble back from the force and speed in which they materialize. He tries to counter, but she sends another — the first constricting tighter — until he’s on his back and wriggling.

He huffs out a laugh as she moves to stand overtop him, hovering, and smiles up at her like he used to when they were Junior Aurors and practicing on this very mat.

“I suppose this training is beneficial for both of us,” he says, his tone light and rightfully somewhat chastised for underestimating her. “Apologies, Sera. Shall we have a more serious go at it?”

She kneels down beside him, her fingers grabbing him by the chin, and says, “Percival… we already are.”

She stands and takes a step back as he blinks up at her, confused. A simple flick of the wrist is all she needs to manipulate the bonds. To position him how she wants him. On his knees, ass up, shoulders pressed to the ground like a proper bitch in heat. The position forces a gust of air from his throat, shocked and embarrassed.

“Sera, what—“

“You’ve been questioning me a lot, Graves. There will be no more question tonight,” she says as she comes to circle him, her feet silent on the mat as the plastic depresses beneath her feet with each step. His eyes following her until they couldn’t any more. “Not tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that. You are my righthand man, Graves. That means doing as I say without hesitation, not inspiring doubt into my council.”

“Sera, you know as well as I that some of your tactics as of late have been somewhat rushed,” Graves says, undeterred by her show of power. “I’m your friend, I would never compromise your position as President. I helped you get here. But I won’t let you put good men and women at stake because you’re frantic to catch a madman either. For what? To show up the Ministry of Magic? Those are my people, Sera—“

“—No,” she says coldly. “Those are  _my_  people. The sooner you remember that, the better. They are  _my_  people,” she continues as she comes to stand a few feet behind him. “ _You_  are my people.”

And with that, she flicks her wand. A light cord of magic snakes out to snap at one cheek, making him yelp more from shock than pain. But the crack doesn’t sting. There would be no welt left behind despite the spell’s whiplike nature. In its stead, there is a hand print. Large and hot and pink. Just as it felt like the strike of a broad palm. Just as it smarted like a spank.

“Sera,” he breathes, eyes wide and body quivering. Confused, outraged, helpless. Betrayed. “What are you doing?”

“What did I tell you about questions, pet?”

Another snap, another slap. His ass shaking from the force of it, bending him forward onto his knees. He clenches his teeth and rocks with it, and in his eyes she could see his bullheadedness rising. And that simply would not do.

“You are mine, Percival. If I say attack, I expect fangs and claws. If I say jump, I expect you to leap. If I say kneel, I expect you to fall lovingly to your knees, mouth open.”

“Ser—aaah!”

Another slap.

His Adam’s apple bobs with the impact, his throat no doubt dry. He writhes against the bonds, hands out to call the wand that had tumbled away, but her bindings stop him. Leaching him of magic, pouring it back into the way it vibrates against his skin. Drawing tighter.

“Things are going to change from now on, pet,” she says as she delivers another blow, making his flanks shake. “Good behavior will be rewarded and bad behavior will be punished. Simple enough, right? I know how you like clean, straightforward rules.”

“Sera, stop, this is—“

Another crack, and he has to clench hard not to keen. Something he thinks he hid. Something she sees. Behind him, she smiles wickedly.

“Since this is the beginning of your training, I’ll be kind. A spank for every question you’ve asked this week, and then a taste of the pleasure you can expect should you begin to act as you should, moving forward.”

He seems content to silence after that, no doubt concerned opening his mouth would incur more wrath. Instead, he braces his forehead to the mat and bites his lip through the ass shaking spanking Picquery delivers. Waits until the spanking stops, until she silently approaches him to feel the heat of her punishment rising through the fabric of his trousers.

When she grabs him then, he whimpers before he can stop himself; cheeks red when he tries to hid his face after. Redder still when his pants dissolve around him, leaving him bare from the waist down — ass pert and raised, at her mercy.

“Sera, sto—“

“Ssh, ssh, ssh, pet,” Picquery says softly. “Let’s not ruin the good part, shall we?”

She fits her hand over the hot pink of the prints her magic left upon his skin — the hand she had conjured far larger than her own. A man’s hand, hot and stinging over the pale milk of his soft ass.

“You’ve got quite a lot back here, pet,” she croons as she tries to fit his cheeks into either of her hands and squeezes. “Had I known, I might have used you for other things far earlier than this.”

“O-other things?” Percival gasps, but she allows him this one question when he quickly bites his lip, aware of what he’d done. Learning.

“Do you know how many dignitaries have asked me for your personal… _protection_  and  _services_ during their stay? How many men and women from all over have asked me to have you bend and take them? All of them eager to have America’s most powerful wizard at their mercy, as though you were some exotic tiger to be tamed rather than a man in a coat with a wand?”

He gasps, and exposed to the room as he is, she sees the way his cock twitches from her words. She smiles and gropes him in reward, making him shiver.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“No,” he bites out quickly, but already her thumb is slipping past his cheeks to pet at his small little hole.

“Ssh, pet, it’s alright. We know each other properly now. You know that your place is at my feet, and I know that you are not as opposed to being brought to your knees as either of us thought. Now that we know, we can move forward.”

“Sera, I don’t— _nnnnngh_ ,” he moans, voice desperate and raw as she peels his hole to spread between two thumbs, opening him, watching the little pucker wink frantically. She traces him, then. Fingers following the curve of his anus gently before finally standing and pulling away.

“Hold yourself open.”

He tips his chin over his shoulder to look at her, but the command is not for him. Instead, the bindings bleed to life. Shifting his hands to his ass, coaxing his fingers to pry and pull until he’s well and truly holding himself open for her. And on the mat, Percival lets loose a harsh, dry sob of frustration; body shaking as he fights it.

“Sera, did someone get to you? It’s me. It’s Percival. I can help you, just let me—“

“Go? Oh dear, sweet friend,” she says, “No one is to blame for this but you. If you had just known your place and stayed in your lane, I wouldn’t need to do this. But it seems maybe this is good for you, too. When was the last time you let anyone touch you, pet? When was the last time you released?”

He bites his lip and presses his forehead to the mat, settling down to silent endure.

“No, no no — none of that,” she says, moving to pet his lower back. “You will enjoy this, not endure this. I will pull pleasure from your bones until you’re quivering. Until all you can think of is my touch. So that next time you think to question me, you’ll remember that only good boys get their treats.”

He shivers when a simple spell overflows him with lube, oozing from his anus in a gush that trickles down his thighs and over his balls.

“So lovely for me, so wet — just like a good pet,” she praises, and although he did nothing, he can’t help but feel a guilty trill of gratitude for having pleased her.

It’s a simply spell to craft the dildo that hovers an inch from her skin, over her cloths, suspended. Easy to place it at Graves’ weeping hole. It even twitches with interest as a real cock might when Graves shivers and bites down on a moan. And when she leads it slowly inside him, she can feel each and every inch of him. He flutters tight and hot around her, and she holds back her noises. It is not she that will fall apart, so she holds them down — low in her throat — and lets Percival sing for the both of them.

It squelches horribly when she pulls back, a thick glob of lube emerging with the fake cock as his hole stretches thin around her. She angles it, opening him a little more, and delves back in only for him to jerk like a live wire, and she grins. She knows what she hit. Aims to hit it every time thereafter without mercy.

It’s not long before he can’t hold back his keening any longer, tears hot and heavy when they shake free of his lashes. Mouth open lewdly as he tries to survive. His cock is hard and red and angry where it bobs against his belly, but she doesn’t touch it. Doesn’t let  _him_ touch it. He’ll come from this and this alone.

“All this time, all you’ve needed was a firm hand and proper conditioning, “Sera says, “I was a fool not to see it. But I know better now. I’ve got you.”

And Graves wails as the dildo inside him thickens, pressing that much harder against that little nub of nerves inside him. His own fingers bite into the meat of his ass, the only thing he has to hold onto to get him through the pleasure.

She hits his prostate again and again, until he’s clenching and coming around her false length, sending her over the edge herself — dildo pumping more lube into him to simulate a male orgasm while her own sex weeps from tipping over the edge. He thinks they’re done. Mouth open and panting against the mat. Shaking hard and fast and overwhelmed.

He thinks it’s over.

But women can have multiple orgasms, so she simply expands the dildo to fill Graves’ slackened anus like it’s the first time — filling him anew — brimming and tight once more.

He’s sobbing openly now, his cock soft where it bobs as she coaxes him slowly through pleasure once again.

And again, and again, and again. Until there’s a puddle beneath his knees and his hole is gaping when she leaves him.

She keeps him bound when she pets him. Is gentle in cleaning him, though she leaves the soreness. She wants him to remember the lesson.

She wipes the tears from his eyes with soft kisses. Holds him through the trembling. Eases him down from the suffering and the pleasure-pain and the bone deep ache of  her teachings, and thinks about what she’ll do with him next time.

“Any questions, pet?” She asks.

He shakes his head beneath her chin, and she smiles into his hair.


End file.
